


roll kid, rock your body off

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bruises, Community: pass_shoot_porn, Detroit Red Wings, Established Relationship, Locker Room, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Now, he just needed release.</i>  Post-Western Conference Semis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	roll kid, rock your body off

**Author's Note:**

> In media res, wheeeeeeee! 
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://pass-shoot-porn.livejournal.com/8204.html) at [](http://pass_shoot_porn.livejournal.com/profile)[**pass_shoot_porn**](http://pass_shoot_porn.livejournal.com/). I actually started part of this for the last prompt I got that I couldn’t finish in time. I hope that’s cool. 
> 
> This is the first hockey thing I’ve written in a very, very long time. 
> 
> Title from “Phenomena,” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 
> 
> Thanks to [**inplayruns**](http://inplayruns.livejournal.com/) for looking this over even though she's not in this fandom.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Jimmy pressed his forehead against the slick tiles and fumbled with the shower tap, turned it all the way up to ‘hot enough to peel the skin off his back.’

He looked down, fit his fingers over a nebula of bruises that wrapped around his hip. He pressed his thumb pad against one, tried to remember who took the shot, where the puck ended up (deflected it to the corner and Rafalski scooped it up, fed Datsyuk for a two-on-one). He touched another bruise, and then another, but the details swirled into a soupy mix in his tired brain and he didn’t care to sort them out.

Jimmy could still hear the faint voices of his teammates in other shower stalls, just beyond the low roar of the shower as it beat down his back. Someone laughed sharply and Jimmy curled his fingers against the tile in disgust. It was probably Draper. He was the type who’d be laughing after a one-goal defeat in a game seven.

After a little while, the other noises fell away, until all Jimmy could hear was the water.

“You okay?”

Jimmy didn’t bother looking up, knew without looking who that voice belonged to. “I’m fine.”

Osgood lingered behind the shower curtain. “Sure about that? You’ve been in there a while. Everyone else’s left.”

Jimmy pulled the curtain back just a bit. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“You were good, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy muttered, wishing for the conversation to end so he could just—he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet. Hide in the showers forever? Or at least until the sting of defeat dulled into something more manageable?

Osgood reached past the plastic shower curtain and twisted the knobs until the water faded to a trickle. He pulled a towel off the metal rack outside the stall and threw it into Jimmy’s face. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Jimmy spluttered and wiped the towel through his hair and down, over his face. “Jesus, Chris. Since when did you become my mom?”

“That’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” Osgood yanked the towel away.

“Oh, fuck off.” Jimmy pushed past him and went looking for the fresh change of clothes he’d put out.

Osgood grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back, letting out a high pitched whistle. “Whoa, those are some nasty bruises.” Osgood pressed his thumb at one on Jimmy’s hip and he leaped out of the way.

“Hey, careful. I’m still kinda banged up.” Jimmy pushed Osgood’s hand away and picked his t-shirt up off a pile.

“You know, we’re the only ones still here,” Osgood said, after a few contemplative moments.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder at him. He trusted neither the look in Osgood’s eye nor the solicitous tone he’d taken on. “Yeah?”

“So, c’mere, then.”

Osgood was at his side in two—maybe three at the most—long strides, snapping the t-shirt out of his hand. Jimmy backed up until his shoulders hit the wall behind him.

“What if someone walks in?” Jimmy didn’t move to push him away, though.

Osgood grinned at him, all teeth, and braced his hands on either side of Jimmy’s head. “Isn’t that part of the fun, Howie?”

He leaned in and Jimmy pushed away from the wall, met him halfway. He tasted faintly of beer. For some reason, that, more than anything else, hammered home to Jimmy that their playoff run was over. Osgood hadn’t had a drop to drink since the playoffs started because he wanted to savor it when they won the Cup or something, Jimmy had never really gotten the full explanation.

Osgood’s hand found his hip and pressed, pushed Jimmy back against the wall. The bruises stung and Jimmy dug his fingers into Osgood’s shoulders, hard enough to leave behind some marks of his own.

Jimmy kissed him, bit at his lips and tasted copper. The bruises on his hip burned and throbbed under Osgood’s grip. It hurt, and normally he wouldn’t push this hard, wouldn’t basically be begging to be pushed himself, but he couldn’t stop. Osgood was squeezing onto his hip painfully hard, biting back, and everything was hurting now, but it felt _good_. Now, he just needed release.

Osgood seemed to sense that and pressed Jimmy back against the wall, pinning his wrists down at his sides with his hands. He dragged his teeth down the side of Jimmy’s neck and bit down, sharp enough to sting. Jimmy closed his eyes, focused on the ache. One of Osgood’s hands slipped away from Jimmy’s wrist to wrap around his erection, and he began to stroke it in short, hard jerks. His teeth found Jimmy’s neck again and he bit down.

Jimmy gasped, a small, startled sound, and grabbed onto Osgood’s shoulder.

“Like that?” Osgood bit him again.

“Yeah,” Jimmy whispered.

“You gonna come like this?” Osgood started stroking him faster, and Jimmy began to thrust his hips against Osgood’s hand in response.

Jimmy had gone non-verbal at that point, a shapeless mess of gasps and moans, and could only nod in response.

Osgood nibbled down Jimmy’s neck, worried at the curve of his collarbone with his teeth, as he jerked him with his fist. His other hand pressed down on Jimmy’s hip. Pain flared down, into his thigh before tapering off.

It didn’t take Jimmy much longer to come after that, spurting into Osgood’s hand, which he opened and wiped off on Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy didn’t have the brain power to protest, though. His neck and hip ached in a slow burn, and his entire body felt heavy, tired. Water from the shower was still dripping off Jimmy and onto the tiled floor under his feet.

Something soft and fuzzy smacked him in the face and Jimmy forced his eyes open; Osgood held a fresh towel in his hand. There was a dark wet spot on the thigh of Osgood’s blue jeans and Jimmy wondered if that was him or the water from the shower.

“Here, dry yourself up and get dressed.” Osgood tossed the towel to Jimmy and stepped back.

Jimmy rubbed the towel through his hair and wrapped it around his neck. “Uh, hey, Chris?”

Osgood stopped in front of the door that led to the lockerroom and looked back. “Yeah?”

Jimmy offered him a small smile. “Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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